


Unknown Variables

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Castiel/Meg Masters, Misunderstandings, No Underage Sex, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: When Mr. Singer asks Cas to tutor one of his math students, the last thing Cas expects is to find himself in a friends-with-benefits relationship with someone – especially Dean Winchester.Still, that’s all it is, and Cas knows it’s bound to end sooner rather than later.Isn’t it?





	Unknown Variables

**Author's Note:**

> Some additional information regarding tags:
> 
> 1) Nothing remotely serious happens between Cas and Meg, but the tag is there to be safe. If you are concerned, please see the End Notes for details of the scene.  
2) **Potential CW:** While Cas is drunk, it occurs to him to be concerned that someone may be leading him to a room for activities he is not interested it; this is absolutely not the case, which becomes clear fairly immediately. I didn’t know if/how I should tag for this stray thought, but I didn’t want anyone to be surprised/worry about it.  
3) Dean and Cas are both 18. This story takes place in the spring semester of their senior year, after both of their birthdays.  
4) If I misused or failed to use any tags, please let me know. Though this was written a couple of years ago, this is my first time posting, so I’m still getting a feel for how to tag. I apologize in advance if there are any problems.
> 
> Not beta read; all mistakes are mine. Please do not repost.  
This is absurd and unnecessary high school drama. You have been warned.

Castiel Novak is very good at math.

He’s a very good student, in general, but he’s especially good at math; what’s more, he _likes _it.

Math is absolute. So long as it is explained sufficiently, he can understand. So long as he knows _how_ to work a problem, he can work it.

Cas appreciates that kind of straightforwardness in his life.

In light of his affinity for math, this shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“You want me to tutor someone?”

Mr. Singer nods, looking a little annoyed, though not at Cas.

(That would have been unfair, given that he’s the one who asked Cas to stay behind after class.)

“Yep. One of my first hour kids hasn’t been showin’ up often enough to get much outta the class, and his grade is flatlinin’ somethin’ awful. Not his fault, and he’s damn bright, but —” he shrugs. “Needs a kick in the pants to get ‘er done.”

Cas nods slowly.

“That makes sense. There are a lot of reasons students fail, and rarely is it a lack of intellect.”

Mr. Singer grimaces, but in an approving sort of way.

“Well-said, kid. Will ya do it, then? He can’t pay you, and you’re the last person to need extra credit, but . . .”

“Of course. If he needs help, I’ll be glad to.”

Honestly, they rarely ask, but Cas likes helping people. He likes being useful; _feeling_ useful. Anna always says that’s because of their ‘fucked up, crazy religious upbringing,’ but sometimes he wonders if that’s who he’d be, anyway.

“You’re a good kid, Novak,” Mr. Singer says, and gives his shoulder a pat. “Where do you wanna meet ‘im?”

Cas thinks for a moment. The library is open after school, but it’s also public, and he doesn’t want to make the boy uncomfortable. He also doesn’t want to walk home while it’s getting dark.

“Will he mind coming to my house?” Cas asks, and Mr. Singer shakes his head.

“You’re doin’ him a favor. I don’t much care what he minds.”

Cas scribbles the address on a piece of paper and hands it over.

“He can come by after school.” A thought occurs to him. “Oh — what’s his name?”

Strangely, Mr. Singer hesitates.

“Dean. Dean Winchester.”

Cas blinks.

“Okay,” he says neutrally. “I guess I’ll see him after school, then.”

\----------

Cas doesn’t pay a lot of attention to his classmates (he _is_ a very good student, after all), but some of them are difficult to ignore.

There’s Bartholomew, on the swim team, who shoves Cas into a locker about once a month so he and his friends can laugh. Cas could probably beat him in a fight, if he had to, but he doesn’t want to, and he’d probably have to deal with more than just Bartholomew, at which point his odds would drastically lower.

Minor bruising from a locker isn’t a horrible alternative.

He knows of Lilith, a girl who’s notorious for her brutality as both cheer captain and general menace. He could absolutely beat her in a fair fight, but he walks the other way whenever he sees her in the hall, because her family’s both well off and possibly organized crime, and Cas is much more afraid of her than Bartholomew.

She doesn’t ever notice him, though, and he’s grateful.

Dean Winchester, on the other hand — Dean Winchester doesn’t have a _bad _ reputation, exactly. The only reason Cas even knows who he is — or rather, has a name to attach to a face you’d have to be blind not to notice — is because pretty much the entire school is _very _interested in him and whatever he happens to be doing.

Dean showed up at the beginning of junior year, all fine beauty and rough edges, with big green eyes and full lips and a physique that suggested any number of qualifications; if that wasn’t enough to have the school in a frenzy, he walked in on Bartholomew and his cronies bullying a freshman in the locker room.

Cas wasn’t there, and he knows the rumor mill exaggerates; but when he heard that Dean had fought _all _of them, then successfully fended off the subsequent attempt at retaliation . . .

He believed it.

Of course, what Cas does or doesn’t believe doesn’t matter; the important thing is that everyone else believed it, too, and Dean was all anybody talked about for weeks.

They never quite tired of the subject, either, and now Dean is also well known for being a very, _very_ good time — if you’re lucky enough to have the chance.

Cas — when he’s forced to spare a thought to them — believes those rumors, too.

Not that any of that has any bearing on their tutoring session, however, and despite an uncharacteristic bout of nerves, he pushes these stray thoughts out of his head and prepares to start with a clean slate.

Dean arrives at precisely three o’ clock, mere minutes after Cas, and clean slate or not, it takes him a full thirty seconds to offer any kind of greeting.

Dean’s very . . . that is, Cas has never been quite this close to him, despite a handful of classes together, and he’s quite . . . well, it’s unexpected, is all.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean swallows, and Cas watches his throat move. It occurs to him, belatedly, that Dean hasn’t said anything either.

“Uh. Hey. Uh — it’s, um, Castiel, right?”

He sounds a little weird — not that Cas is one to talk — but it must be awkward, having to ask a fellow student to tutor you. Cas has never needed academic help, but the idea of imposing on one of his peers in that fashion, _especially_ where one of his deficiencies is concerned, makes him very uncomfortable.

“Yes. You can call me Cas, if that’s easier.”

“Cas,” Dean repeats, and then he smiles, warm and crooked. “Yeah. Suits you.”

Cas doesn’t know what that means, so he doesn’t say anything.

\----------

Dean actually doesn’t need that much help.

“Dean,” Cas asks, once Dean sets his pencil down and shakes his hand out, having arrived at yet another correct answer following a single round of explanation. “May I ask how often you study on your own?”

Dean averts his eyes.

“Uhhh . . . well, see, I work a lotta nights, and when I have time off, I don’t exactly — I mean, it’s kinda boring.”

“I see. Is that why you’re late to Mr. Singer’s class?”

Dean makes a face.

“What, did you guys go over my whole life story? Yeah, that’s why. I like the extra sleep.”

Cas nods.

“That’s fair. I’m very fond of sleep, myself.”

Dean gives him a suspicious look.

“You makin’ fun of me, Cas?”

“Not at all. Sleeping is my second favorite thing after math.”

Dean stares, then shakes his head and laughs like Cas has made a very good joke.

\----------

By the time six o’ clock rolls around, Dean’s pretty much caught up.

“You’re very smart,” Cas blurts out, as Dean gathers his things. He pauses, looking up with a little smile.

“What, you expected a total dumbass?”

“What? No, I had no expectations, I didn’t know you. Very few people are actually stupid, anyway. I just meant — well, I meant what I said.”

Dean zips up his backpack and then lets it rest on the chair, regarding Cas thoughtfully.

“Very smart,” he repeats. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve covered several weeks of material in a few hours’ time.”

“Well, it ain’t like I _never _attended class.”

“Still,” Cas protests. “You were behind, and now you’re caught up. That’s very impressive.”

Dean nods.

“Hm. Alright, Cas. Thanks. You’re pretty damn smart, yourself.”

Cas blushes. He can’t help it. He’s been called smart plenty of times and never thought much of it — but none of _those_ compliments came from someone like _this._

“Thank you,” he mumbles, face hot.

Dean grins, and steps forward.

“Actually, I think I should be thanking you.”

\----------

Cas isn’t sure how it happens, but by six-forty-five, Dean’s car is _still_ in the driveway, his backpack is _still_ on the dining room chair, and he, himself, is on Cas’s bed.

Well, sort of. Cas is on Cas’s bed, and Dean is on top of him.

“Oh,” Cas says, probably not having had a coherent thought for at least ten minutes.

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, rubbing his jaw against Cas’s face like a cat while his hands —

“_Oh,_” Cas says again.

Dean’s laughter might just be Cas’s new favorite sound.

\----------

Dean seems to find _his _new favorite sound about ten minutes after that, and only once Cas has let it out does he even remember to be glad no one else is home.

\----------

Cas knows, of course, that unless Dean needs further tutoring sometime between now and graduation, they’ll probably never speak again.

It’s not that he thinks Dean didn’t have a nice time, despite the fact that Cas had no idea what he was doing (a fact which was no doubt obvious), but he doesn’t imagine for a moment that he, in particular, had anything to do with Dean’s enjoyment.

Cas, on the other hand, keeps thinking back to it, wondering to himself, _Why didn’t I _ _try_ _ that sooner? _and every time, can’t help but conclude that he must have somehow been waiting for Dean.

Still, distracted bouts of wistfulness aside, he knew from the moment Dean kissed him by the dining room table — _Cas, you’re supposed to push me off or kiss me back _— how things would play out, and he’s fine with that.

Thus, it comes as a surprise when, three days later, they pass each other in the hall and Dean stops, reaching out to catch his arm.

“Hey, Cas!” he greets him, grin broad. Cas tries not to focus overmuch on the hand on his arm; how do other people do this, he wonders, seeing people they barely know but remember, vividly, how it feels to be touched by?

“Hello, Dean.” He returns the smile, finds it’s not as hard as he expected, and Dean beams.

“Got my math quiz back. Ninety-four,” he states proudly, and Cas covers the hand on his arm with his own, giving it a squeeze.

“Congratulations.”

Dean ducks his head.

“Yeah, well, I owe it all to you.”

“Hardly.” Cas pauses, waiting for Dean to look back at him. “At least give _some _credit to Mr. Singer.”

Dean laughs.

“Yeah, fuck off, Cas,” he says. Cas worries, for a moment, that he speaks in earnest, but Dean’s eyes are still light with mirth, so he just smiles.

“I need to get to class,” he explains, reluctantly drawing away. It was nice of Dean to let him know, but they don’t have much else to say to each other, and Cas doesn’t want to do that thing where he hovers too long and makes things awkward.

“Oh. Yeah, you’re probably right. I should go, too. Just wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

And _that, _Cas assumes, is that.

\----------

Coincidentally, Dean walks into the second floor boys’ room just as Cas is washing his hands after the final bell.

“Oh — hello, Dean,” Cas greets him, startled to have run into him twice in one day.

Dean reaches behind him and twists the lock without even looking back.

“Heya, Cas.” He grins, bright, and doesn’t seem surprised at all.

\----------

Less coincidentally, Cas ends up sitting on a sink, legs wrapped around Dean’s waist and hands tangled up in hair and clothes that logically, he understands are protecting them from terrifying bathroom germs, but emotionally, resents with the heat of a thousand burning suns.

“_Fuck_, Cas_, _so fuckin’ perfect — where did you even come from, oh my _god—_”

Well, maybe not all of that heat is resentment.

\----------

Dean continues to say ‘hi’ to him every now and again, which is a little weird, but mostly nice, and Cas tries not to take advantage of that and accidentally trap him in conversation. People have a limit when it comes to dealing with Cas, and he’s very careful to excuse himself once more than two minutes have passed.

His excuses may leave something to be desired, though. More than once, Dean has looked confused when Cas interrupts his own responses to declare some random engagement elsewhere, which is fair; needing to watch the bees is maybe not the _best _segue between “I see your friend’s crazy convention story and raise you a sister’s crazy college story” and “Ah, look at the time, I have to go now before you decide never to speak to me again.”

Still, he thinks he’s managing that part alright.

What really throws him for a loop is the fact that Dean keeps finding him, all across campus, at varying times of day (how does he even _know_) and somehow, within five minutes of being alone with Dean, Cas is putty in his hands.

Literally.

Well, half-literally, because Cas will never literally be _putty_ , but — that’s not the _point._

The point is that he has inadvertently fallen into an (admittedly very enjoyable) friends-with-benefits? Acquaintances-with-benefits? Tutor-and-tutoree-with-benefits? relationship with Dean, and it shows no sign of ending anytime soon.

No, after a week of unexpected makeout sessions and very rushed hookups, Cas is enjoying a Saturday at home when he gets a text from an unknown number.

_>> hey Cas, hows your weekend goin?_

He frowns.

_<< Sorry, who is this?_

_ >> right, sorry. its dean._

_ << How did you get my number?_

There’s a long pause.

>> _uh. _ _y__ou not want me to have it or smth?_

Smth? And of _course _Cas wants — that is, doesn’t mind Dean having his number. He’s just genuinely curious as to where he’s gotten it from.

_<< No, it’s fine. I just wondered._

_ >> heh, real question is how did _ _i_ _ not already have _ _it_ _? _ _g__uess somebody kept distractin me ;)_

Cas feels warm all over. He’s not sure what to do with that, so he ignores it.

_<< That still doesn’t answer the question._

_ >> fine you pedant (nice, right?) _ _i_ _ told bobby you were super helpful the first time and _ _i_ _ needed more tutoring_

Cas’s heart sinks a little. From what he could gather, Dean had been doing so well — as he should be, given how clever he was.

He hopes it isn’t his fault. Dean said he’d been distracting him; perhaps he meant it seriously.

<< _I’m very sorry to hear that. I’d be happy to tutor you. When would you like to meet me?_

_ >> . . ._

_ >> shit _ _i_ _ can’t even tell if youre joking or not._

_ << What would I be joking about?_

_ >> oh my god _ _i _ _still cant tell_

_ << ?_

_ >> please please please_

_ >> tell me _ _i_ _ can come over_

Cas frowns. The situation must be dire.

\----------

“You — nnghh, _Cas __—_ you seriously thought I — _ah_ — needed more _tutoring?_”

“How could I possibly kno—_oh_ _—_ _ohhh_ _—_”

“How could you _not?” _Dean gasps, and Cas really doesn’t have an answer to that, for more than one reason.

\----------

Some time later, Dean lurches up in the bed, scowling.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he exclaims. “You thought I needed more tutoring already? What happened to me being ‘very smart’?”

Cas squints tiredly at him, and feebly tries to tug the blanket back up.

“Must have slipped my mind,” he mutters, and buries his face in the pillow.

After a moment, Dean flops backward, wrapping an arm around him and resting his cheek against Cas’s shoulder blade.

Cas can feel him smile.

“Okay, then, guess I asked the wrong question.”

That smile widens, and patiently, Cas waits.

“Whatever happened to _you _being ‘very smart’?”

Cas feels a _little_ bit bad about shoving Dean off the bed, given that it’s partially lofted, but he seems fine, so Cas isn’t too worried about it.

\----------

He expects a lot more ‘tutoring sessions’ from there on out, and sure, they happen a couple times a week — but mostly, Dean uses his number just to text him.

Honestly, Cas is becoming mildly concerned for Dean’s grades. Some days, he texts Cas a lot, which means he must be _extremely _bored, which means he’s probably _not_ doing something he should be. No, instead he sends pictures of confused-looking cats accompanied by cryptic ‘_saw this and thought of you’ _comments, and rambling speculations about the various shows he watches. If Cas indicates he hasn’t seen a particular show — which is pretty much all of them — Dean takes it upon himself to summarize it (in great detail, as many times as he deems necessary).

It never stops Cas from asking.

Oftentimes, Dean talks about his little brother, or about the customers at his part-time job, or how creepy his other part-time job gets late at night, hardly anyone around. He sends a lot of pictures, like when he’s particularly pleased with how a meal he made turned out, or when the shadows in the warehouse his night job is at fall into strange, uncanny shapes. Once, he even sends a video of Sam’s reaction to a prank he pulls, though Cas suspects Dean will not get to pull pranks much longer, given the rate at which the boy seems to be growing. He keeps this thought to himself.

He does wonder where their parents are, that he spends so much time working and taking care of Sam. And when he’s not doing that, he comes and goes as he pleases, out partying with his friends on the nights he doesn’t work and spontaneously inviting himself over to Cas’s place to fool around. Dean’s time seems to be governed by no one but himself, and while Dean seems happy with that, Cas can’t help but wonder if that’s it.

After all, Cas spends most of his time alone, nowadays, church friends long since grown distant and siblings away at college. His own parents seem to prefer work to anything else. Cas keeps himself occupied with school and the occasional book, and he, too, is happy. But sometimes he feels this vague anxiety, something like a desire for more. It’s not unbearable, and it’s often quick to go away, but it happens.

_>> lol charlies braiding sams hair while he naps. _ _t__old him hed regret growin it out_

_ >> shit hes waking up_

_ >> ???? the fuckkk? _ _he__s excited its long enough_

_ >> oh my GOD cas he wants to braid hers next_

_ >> save me_

Cas doesn’t bother suppressing his smile, because there’s no one around to judge him.

_<< I’m sorry you feel left out, Dean._

_ << Perhaps Charlie will let you braid hers, once Sam is done?_

_>> . . ._

_ >> you’re an ass_

And if that random, subtle feeling of discontent happens a little _less, _lately, Cas chooses not to think much of it.

It can only be a good thing, right?

\----------

Sometimes, Cas doesn’t feel like eating in the lunch room. It’s loud and crowded and strangely confining, and there are days when he just doesn’t have the energy for that.

On those days, he’ll seek solace in the library, or on the empty football field, or — if it’s unlocked — the rooftop.

He likes the rooftop best. The school has three floors, and although there’s safety fencing all along the perimeter, Cas can still see through it, past the campus and across the town to the city in the distance. He likes the view, and he likes the feeling of being high up somewhere, close to the sky.

He’s just unwrapped his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a few weeks after Dean’s first text, when he hears the door to the stairwell swing open.

He peers over curiously, a little disappointed that he might have to share his hiding spot, but then the door begins to fall shut, and Dean steps forward.

“There you are!” he exclaims, catching sight of Cas. He strolls over and plunks down next to him, inspecting his lunch. “The hell? Is this raw celery?”

“It’s good for you,” Cas says, very convincingly, in his opinion. To be honest, he _hates _it.

“Physically, maybe. You’re still gonna need therapy if you eat that shit all the time.”

“I doubt it will have a lasting impact on my psyche, Dean.”

Dean picks a stick up and crunches into it, making a face.

“Yef ih ill.”

Cas nods sagely.

“Indeed.”

Dean gingerly sets it back down, like it might bite him back, and swallows.

“So, is this where you run off to all the time?”

“Not all the time. Sometimes I go to the library, or the football field.” Dean makes an appreciative face, because he’s found Cas in both places, during study hall.

“Good to know. Wondered why you weren’t at lunch some days.”

“I don’t like how crowded and noisy it is.” Cas is surprised that Dean notices if he’s there at all. “Why did you follow me? We don’t ever eat together.”

Dean looks exasperated.

“Well, no, because — you know. Same reason we don’t talk much in the halls.” Cas must be imagining the accusatory note in his voice.

But Dean’s right. Given the random, private nature of their affair, and the fact that they’re really not friends outside of that, Cas has naturally assumed this is a secret. Which suits him just fine; he would hate to be a topic of interest among his peers. Doubtless, Dean wouldn’t like their names publicly connected, either. He’s usually much pickier, after all.

“Yes.” Cas nods. “Sorry, that wasn’t criticism. It’s better if we don’t.”

Dean’s smile is a little stiff.

“Yeah. I get that. So, uh. Nobody’s up here, though. You’re not gonna chase me away, are you?” he jokes.

Cas tilts his head.

“Why would I do that? You know I always appreciate our talks — our time together.” After all, if either he or Dean _didn’t _enjoy them, they wouldn’t be happening, would they? Despite the obvious logic in this statement, Dean goes still. Cas suddenly wonders if it was a weird thing to say, if Dean is uncomfortable.

Dean’s face is a little red when he speaks, but he’s grinning down at his feet, so he must not be _upset._

“Yeah, uh, me, too, Cas. Me, too.”

Cas patiently refrains from rolling his eyes. Again, _obviously. _Dean has a life full of other things besides Cas, and if he found Cas boring or annoying, he wouldn’t be here. Even as it is, Cas suspects it’s a matter of time before that becomes true. That’s just how these things work.

Dean lets Cas have a minute to work on his sandwich while he fidgets off to the side, and then suddenly, he reaches out to touch Cas’s lunch box.

“Castiel Novak,” he reads off the masking tape label. “You know, if anybody wants to steal your lunch, that’s probably not gonna stop them?”

Cas shrugs.

“If I leave it somewhere, it might be returned to me.”

“Yeah? Hard to picture you just forgetting your stuff somewhere.”

“Everyone gets distracted.”

Dean starts to leer, and Cas holds up a warning hand.

“I do need to eat.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You were _going _to.”

“Was not. You’re just being paranoid.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he says dryly, then gestures to Dean. “Where’s your lunch?”

“Didn’t have time to get it, if I wanted my chance to catch you.”

Cas frowns.

“You know, you could also have texted and _asked _me where I was at.”

Dean blinks.

“Oh.” The tips of his ears are turning red, and he crosses his arms. “Well, maybe I like chasing you around the school.”

“You do seem to,” Cas agrees, and Dean chuckles.

“Hey,” he says suddenly. “Castiel.”

“That is my name.”

“Yeah, I know, but – like, I’ve never met anyone else called that. It’s badass,” he adds hurriedly. “But where'd it come from?”

“The Angel of Thursday. Though you could have just googled it.”

Dean makes a face.

“I _could _have, but I like it better when you tell me things. What’s the point, otherwise?”

Cas doesn’t have an answer for that, so he takes a bite of his sandwich. He’s not sure how Dean interprets it, though, because he huffs exaggeratedly and pulls out his phone, tapping away at the screen.

“Huh,” he says a minute later. “Solitude and tears.”

“I _have_ questioned my parents’ choice,” Cas confesses.

“Well, hey, at least you get Thursdays!”

“’Thursday’s child has far to go,’” he quotes, and Dean pushes at him playfully.

“Yeah? That why you come up here, angel? Trying to fly away?”

Cas opens his mouth, but Dean heads him off.

“Dude, I know people can’t fly, it’s a _joke._”

“Well, if we’re speaking _metaphorically, _then . . . maybe.”

For whatever reason, some of Dean’s humor fades.

“Yeah? Well. Don’t go too far.”

“But I have so far to go,” Cas says blankly, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Go as far as you want. Just — come back, okay?”

And it’s a joke — it’s all a joke, it always is — but there’s something in his voice, something like _worry _ and _affection _and a host of other things people generally don’t feel for Cas, and he acts on instinct.

He reaches for Dean’s hand, grasps it firmly.

“Always.”

Dean’s hand stays limp in his for a moment, and then —

“That’s it, you’ve had enough to eat.”

The last two bites of Cas’s sandwich get tossed back in his lunchbox, and the celery gets crushed into the knee of Dean’s pants.

Dean complains that he tastes like peanut butter.

\----------

Cas has to wear a suit for a presentation in his public speaking class, and while he appreciates looking tidy, he doesn’t appreciate being stared at.

_Why _a suit is necessary for this unit, and what further wisdom wearing one could possibly impart, Cas isn’t sure, but he’s not about to leave fifteen points on the table for the sake of comfort. He’s maintaining an A in the class, but only barely. The teacher doesn’t care for his lack of animation, apparently.

He’s on his way back from class, mildly despondent over his performance — his classmates were _staring _today, when they usually just tune him out — when he passes Dean.

“Woah,” he hears, and though he intends to keep walking, he pauses, turning back with a quizzical eye.

“Uh, nice suit, Cas,” Dean says, face a little funny. “You — why’re you wearin’ a suit?”

“It was for class.” Cas sort of holds out his arms, inspecting himself self-consciously, though he already knows what he looks like.

“Ah. Yeah, that, uh, makes sense. It’s nice.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“So you said. I’d agree with you, but people keep looking at me, and I don’t care for the attention.”

Dean huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, I’ve noti-”

“Winchester!” His friends are a few paces ahead of him, and the redhead looks impatient. Cas knows a few of their names, but not to which faces they belong. “Stop flirting with your boyfriend and come to class!”

Cas can’t see himself, but he’s pretty sure he turns just as red as Dean does.

“_Dude, _ stop _yelling!” _Dean snaps back, and gives Cas an apologetic look. “She’s just teasin’ us, sorry.”

“That’s . . . rude,” Cas says lamely, and Dean winces.

“Yeah, no, I know — _she _knows — she’s just — but she doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know,” Cas assures him. He’s never considered for a moment that they _could_ be boyfriends, let alone were.

Dean smiles.

“_Dean, _seriously, he’ll still be there later!”

He sighs.

“Okay, I gotta go.” He pauses, chewing on his bottom lip a little, and Cas watches unabashedly. He’s allowed, probably. “So . . . _will _you? Be here later?”

“No,” he says slowly. “I’m going home after school.”

“Right, right.” He coughs. “Maybe I’ll see you there?”

Cas shouldn’t. He should tell Dean _tomorrow, _or even the day after, because he has two tests this Friday and as busy as Dean supposedly is, he always ends up staying twice as long as he meant to.

“I hope so.”

Dean grins.

“Well, then. I guess I _will_ see you later, angel.”

It’s a stupid, childish nickname, and Cas feels like a multitude of insect metamorphoses are taking place in his digestive tract every time Dean uses it.

“HEY ASSHOLE,” a blonde yells, and Dean winks at him, spinning around and jogging off.

Cas watches him return to his friends, slinging his arms around two pretty girls who laugh and halfheartedly try to wriggle away.

He wonders, just a brief flash of a thought, if Dean does the same things with them as he does with Cas, but then he shakes himself.

It’s not like it matters, does it?

\----------

“Fuck’s sake,” Dean mumbles later, a collapsed puddle on the bed (albeit a very handsome one). “How is it always so _good_?”

Cas throws him a sleepy, amused look.

“Sex is widely regarded as an enjoyable pasttime, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t laugh. If anything, he looks offended.

“Dude, come on. Are you seriously suggesting this isn’t the best sex you’ve ever had?”

Cas flushes, a different kind of pleasure suffusing him at the implication. They’ve been doing this a month, now, and while there haven’t been any complaints or criticisms, Cas hasn’t harbored much hope as to where his fledgling abilities rank.

And maybe Dean says this to all the people he sleeps with — maybe even believes it’s true, at the time — but Cas appreciates it nonetheless.

“It’s not like I have anything to compare it to,” he deadpans, knowing it will annoy Dean, because he’s learned that Dean is a little competitive, and a victory won by default will likely leave him pouting.

Dean stares at him, but he doesn’t look irritated so much as . . . distressed.

“You — that’s — you’re making a joke now, right?” he asks, a little hoarse. Cas didn’t think he’d be _that _upset.

“Yes,” he says, reaching out to offer reassurance through touch, and Dean relaxes. “Sorry. It was a bad joke. Just because I don’t have anything to compare it to doesn’t mean I can’t tell it’s particularly good.”

The tension returns tenfold, and Dean bolts upright, pale.

“Shit. _Shit. _ You — Cas, why didn’t you _say _something?”

Cas sits up, too, confused.

“I — well, I sort of do, at the time.” In fact, Cas is sometimes embarrassed at how vocal he becomes when —

“What? Shit, no, not — not about _that. _ You, um, you’re not quiet about that,” Dean mumbles, face red. “I mean — you really got _nothing _to compare it to? Zip, nada? Not even a handy at summer camp?”

Cas squints.

“What summer camp did _you _go to?”

“Never mind that,” Dean says hastily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck, I did this all wrong.”

Dean seems to be having some sort of meltdown beside him, and though Cas still doesn’t really understand the problem, he feels bad about having caused it.

He strokes a hand down Dean’s back, scooting so their shoulders press together.

“If you’ve done anything wrong,” he offers tentatively, “I really don’t think I’ve noticed. I certainly haven’t _minded._”

Dean huffs a laugh, and shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t, would you?”

Cas shrugs.

“I’d tell you if I had a problem with anything.”

Dean hesitates, then nods.

“Yeah, okay.” He glances at Cas, the tightness in his shoulders suddenly easing. Perhaps it’s just the light from Cas’s bedroom lamp playing tricks, but there’s something incredibly _warm _ in the look, something that steals the breath from Cas’s lungs and makes him want to lean in and press a dozen, a hundred, a _thousand _kisses to Dean’s lovely, perfect face.

Dean smiles, placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“Don’t ever change,” he says.

Cas beams back, and settles for a dozen.

\----------

One month turns into two, and strange things begin to happen to Cas.

His French teacher asks to speak with him after class one day, and despite Cas maintaining his 98 average in the class, she seems concerned with his absences.

Cas has never been one for skipping class, but French is right after lunch, and now that Cas knows Dean will usually come find him if he _doesn’t _eat in the lunch room, he eats there less and less.

Which is fine, most days. Dean will perch next to him, wherever they are, and they’ll eat and talk about what, in retrospect, seems like a lot of _nothing _and yet always manages to fill the time, and then they’ll make out a little — after all, that’s the whole reason Dean comes to eat with him — and then Cas will go to French class.

Of course, that’s just most days. There are apparently enough days when Dean somehow manages to convince him that he already knows more than enough French, that there are other, more important things he could be learning and, well . . .

Cas doesn’t quite make it to class on those days.

Apparently, this has not escaped Madame Moreau’s attention, and for the first time in his life, a teacher confronts Cas about problems in class.

“No one’s bullying you, right?” she asks, and Cas looks down guiltily. If one wanted to exaggerate, in a figurative sort of way . . .

. . . then he’s still really not being bullied. Dean doesn’t have to try very hard at all, to wear down his defenses.

“No, no one is bullying me.”

“You’re still doing very well, do not misunderstand, but it worries me to see you absent so much.”

Cas hesitates. He doesn’t like to lie, but even he knows that anything even sort of approximating the truth would be a vastly inappropriate answer.

“I’m . . . having a little trouble in other classes. Sometimes I get caught up studying.”

She softens.

“I understand. It’s admirable that you work so hard. But you miss things, when you don’t come.” She purses her lips, thoughtful. “Maybe you should try tutoring?”

Cas almost laughs. Tutoring’s why he has this problem in the _first _place.

\----------

None of his other teachers have reason to corner him, thankfully, but twice in one week, he’s lightly scolded for inattention during class.

Again, Cas doesn’t dare tell the truth about where his head was at.

\----------

The other strange things are more . . . _internal._

Cas doesn’t give a lot of thought to defining what he and Dean have, but if he had to, he’d describe it as a friends-with-benefits relationship. At least, he likes to think the text conversations, and the talks at lunch, and the way Dean occasionally calls him angel even when he’s not about to feel him up make them more friends than acquaintances.

Cas doesn’t have a problem with this; it continues to be a surprise to him that Dean doesn’t, either, but he’s seen it clearly for what it was since day one, and he’s happy to enjoy it for as long as it happens to last.

In light of this, he also knows that he and Dean are not _exclusive. _Again — this is not something he generally thinks about, it being irrelevant to him and what they have, but as the months pass, Cas becomes more conscious than ever of what Dean might do with the rest of his time.

It’s stupid; Cas has never paid much attention to tales of Dean’s exploits over the years, has never spent much time watching him, despite what a pleasure it is to do so, but lately . . .

Lately, Cas thinks of things he didn’t even realize he still remembered hearing about. Lately, Cas’s eyes follow Dean in the halls, at lunch, in their shared English class. He notices how physical Dean is with his friends, how his hands look when they touch other people, and catches himself wondering what they do when he’s not looking. He tracks a seemingly endless series of girls as they go up to speak to him, to try to catch his attention; he hears them talk and laugh about Dean, even when Dean’s not there.

Sometimes, when he looks at or thinks about Dean, he gets this pinched, uncomfortable feeling, instead of the light, tingling sense of contentment he’s apparently been taking for granted.

These are not feelings Cas has had before. He doesn’t know what they mean, or what to do with them — how to make them _stop._

But he’s fairly confident they need to stop.

\----------

It’s a warm day in April when they take lunch by the bleachers on the field.

Dean seems a little quiet, picking at his lunch instead of wolfing it down with gusto, as is his custom, and it’s making Cas anxious.

That’s another new thing. Any time Dean seems even a little off, these days, Cas suddenly worries. Maybe even feels afraid.

Of what, he’s not sure.

“So,” Dean starts, pushing his lunch away, and Cas tenses.

“So?”

There must be something odd about his voice, because Dean throws him a weird look.

“Uh. I’m gettin’ to it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He waits, squirming internally.

“_So, _I, uh. Like, there’s this party tomorrow night, and I know you’re not a big fan of . . . you know, crowds, and stuff, and you don’t want the attention . . . but, like, my friends keep hassling me about it, you know, ‘cause we’ve been — I mean, it’s been months, already, which — wow — and I mean, _I_ think it’d be kinda nice, too, if you — you know, if you came and — ‘cause they’re all gonna be there, and I don’t think anybody else will be lookin’ at what we’re doing, and — and you can leave early, if you hate it, but you could at least say hi, you know, just, stop by? Maybe? For a bit? It, uh, it’d be pretty cool.”

Cas struggles, the whole time, to follow what Dean’s trying to say, and though the middle is a mess of he-has-no-idea-what, he gathers that Dean wants him to attend a party tomorrow night. To . . . say hi?

They say ‘hi’ at school, and when Dean comes over. Why does he want Cas to come to a party he apparently knows Cas won’t enjoy just to say _hi_?

“I don’t know,” Cas says, reluctant and unsure of the point, and Dean’s face falls.

“Right, yeah, you — I mean, obviously you don’t have to. I just thought . . .” he shrugs, lets out a laugh that seems forced. “But I don’t wanna make you suffer just for my sake. We can figure something else out. I just, I kinda wanted you to—”

Some vicious little gremlin is digging Cas’s heart out with a spoon, and he covers Dean’s mouth with his palm.

“Stop.” Dean nods, eyes wide. “Text me where and when the party is, and I’ll be there.”

He drops his hand when he feels Dean start to smile beneath it.

“Yeah? Really?”

“Yes. If you want me to.”

“Shit, I don’t wanna _make _you-”

As if Cas could have said _no _to all that.

“You’re not making me. You want me to go, so I want to go.”

Dean looks at him, searching his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cas confirms.

“Okay. Okay, awesome. Thanks, Cas.”

Cas shrugs.

“You’re welcome.” And he thinks that’s the end of it, but no; Dean reaches for his hands, squeezing and grinning over at him in a way that makes Cas think he might be missing something here.

He likes it when Dean holds his hands. Dean’s hands are always warm, and they never hold on like an afterthought; they hold with intent, like he, too, can feel all the places they touch, and maybe even thinks it means something.

“You’re done eating, right?”

“Yes, but I should — Dean — _Dean __—_ I should _probably get to class,_” Cas tries to insist, but Dean is working kisses up and down his neck, simply changing sides when Cas tries to wriggle away, and the next thing Cas knows, his back is on the grass.

“Hey, there, angel,” Dean says, smiling down at him, one hand planted on the ground and the other buried in the curling strands of hair at Cas’s temple.

“Dean. Really?”

“You’ve got an A in the class, Cas, I don’t know why she wants you to go so bad,” he says, and then ducks down to resume his ministrations.

“In theory, she wouldn’t be teaching the class if it were not, in some way, useful.”

“You can catch up,” he points out, then attaches his mouth to Cas’s collarbone, as if to somehow demonstrate.

Cas sighs, reluctantly bringing a hand up to card through Dean’s hair.

“I’m supposed to spend the afternoon studying for my Anatomy and Phys test, not catching up on French.”

“Oh.” Dean pauses. “So I can’t come over after school?”

Cas glares at the top of his head.

“Obviously _not._”

“Ah, well,” he sighs. “Guess I’ll just have to make the most of your French class, right?”

He looks up, cheeky grin in place, almost like he’s waiting for an answer.

Cas bites his lip. They both know what that answer will be.

“I suppose you will.”

Dean kisses him, a quick, hard press of his lips, and the next thing Cas’s knows, he’s being rolled a little further under the bleachers.

“I’m going to be a mess,” he complains.

“What, you want people to see you?”

“_No_, but it’s going to be obvious what I was doing, anyway.”

“Sorry,” Dean says, gleeful and unapologetic, and kisses him again.

\----------

Dean pretends he’s being helpful, sometime after that, as they try to sort out their clothes and put them back on. He is only pretending to be helpful, of course, because somehow _he_ ends up fully dressed again while Cas just ends up wrestling with him to get his t-shirt back, grass stains all over his pants.

“Dean, we’ll _both _ miss English if you don’t _stop_ that.”

“Stop what?” Dean asks innocently, then yanks the shirt over Cas’s head and _crawls under it _with him, pressing kisses to the skin as he passes.

It tickles, and Cas can’t hold back his laughter.

“Dean! Dean, we’re going to be _late _ _—_”

“Really? That’s terrible, Cas, you should have said something sooner,” he scolds, mock-plaintive, and Cas tries and fails to glare. It’s difficult, when he’s grinning this much.

“And jeez, look at that, you’ve got a little something — right —_there__—_”

Cas isn’t even surprised when Dean kisses him again, slow and sweet, until the grin has softened in cooperation, the space underneath the t-shirt quickly becoming overwarm.

He is surprised, however, when Dean pulls away, smiling, and Cas looks at him and thinks, _I love you._

\----------

“Woah, what happened to you?” his lab partner exclaims later, concerned.

“I fell.”

“Down a _hill_?”

Cas simply stares back, willing himself not to blush.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

It never ceases to amaze Cas what people are willing to believe.

\----------

A few minutes pass, and Cas thinks he’s in the clear, when -

“Oh, hey, your shirt is inside out.”

He freezes.

“Is it? That’s . . . embarrassing. To think, it’s been like that _all day._”

He sneaks a glance to the side, relieved to see him nodding.

“Right? Man, I hate when that happens.”

_Amazing._

\----------

“Cas,” Dean calls to him after school, Impala coming to a stop where the parking lot lets out onto the street. “Hey, man, you need a ride?”

Cas hesitates. He’d love a ride home, but his house is in the opposite direction from Dean’s and as nice as it is that Dean has offered, it hardly seems fair.

“That’s alright. It’s too far out of your way.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Dean insists. “Get in.”

“That’s at least an extra ten minutes you’ll have to drive.”

“Hmmm. At least ten minutes, huh?” Dean licks his lips. “And . . . how much time will it save you?”

Cas thinks about it.

“Twenty, at least. Possibly thirty.”

“Is that right? So if I drive you, that’s like you suddenly finding an extra thirty minutes in your afternoon?”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“Well, more like twenty-five, since there’s still the drive home.”

“Twenty-five, then.” Dean looks . . . pleased.

“Yes?”

“Then I think you should definitely let me give you a ride home.”

\----------

“I think you already stole twenty-five minutes of my time this afternoon,” Cas points out a few minutes after they’ve arrived.

He should have _known._

“Yeah, well, I didn’t hear you complaining,” Dean retorts, then leans over the front seat to look for something in the glove box.

“Well, I’m complaining _now. _ Dean, whatever you’re looking for can probably be found in the _house. _Which is literally less than twenty feet away from us.”

Dean pauses to look at him, pouting.

“But _Cas, _ we’ve _never_ done it here! I want Baby to get to know you.”

“First of all, there’s a good reason for that, and second of all, it’s uncomfortable when you put it that way.”

Dean shrugs and goes back to digging through the glove box.

“Eh, you’ll get used to it. _Besides_, I can’t help but notice you’re still here.”

Cas opens his mouth, ready to retort, but — well, Dean kind of has a point. Cas could absolutely have kissed Dean goodbye and gone into his house instead of going through all the trouble of crawling into the back seat, but he didn’t.

It’s a good thing the houses are far apart and the property is covered in trees.

“Aha!” Dean exclaims, then lurches back, prizes in hand. Cas quickly scoots to the side to avoid being landed on.

Dean grins at him, incorrigible and charming all the same, and wiggles his hand.

“Alright, angel. Where were we?”

\----------

“A bed would have made that a lot easier,” Cas informs him, once he’s caught his breath, then pauses. “Actually, even the _ground _would have made that a lot easier.”

“Jesus, Cas, Baby’s _right here_!”

“. . . That’s still uncomfortable.”

Dean laughs, squeezing Cas in what might have been an effort to pull him closer, except that would be _impossible, _ because even in this giant boat of a car, the seat is _not _big enough for two grown men and they’re already squished as close as possible.

“We could at least go inside to cuddle,” he suggests.

“Dude, come on. This is part of the experience.” He brushes the tip of his nose against Cas’s shoulder. “The car seriously doesn’t do anything for you?”

Dean legitimately sounds a bit _hurt _by this, and Cas is tempted to lie and assure him that on the contrary, the vehicle makes him _extremely _hot.

And it is a very nice car, and Cas loves that Dean loves it so much, and he _did_ enjoy what just happened in it (quite a bit).

It just _also _happened to be deeply uncomfortable, at several points, most notably due to the lack of space.

“It does,” he starts, careful. “But not nearly as much as you do.”

Dean props himself up, and gravity has Cas sliding into what little space has been left behind.

“That was fuckin’ smooth, Cas.”

“Thank you?” Cas hesitates, then lightly pinches Dean butt, because it seems like the kind of thing that would amuse him.

Gratifyingly, Dean laughs. Cas waits for him to finish, but instead, he keeps laughing, collapsing back on Cas’s chest as he struggles for breath.

“Shit, I’m going to hell for this,” he chokes out, full of mirth, and Cas makes a face. What can he possibly mean? “I’m totally corrupting this pure, innocent little nerd. You used to do math for fun, and now you’re letting bad boys defile you in the back seats of their muscle cars.”

Cas rolls his eyes, unable to find words for how ridiculous he finds that.

“’Defile’ isn’t really the word I’d use.”

“And it’s just one bad boy, right?” Dean leans down to kiss him again, and Cas allows it for a few minutes, even though Dean is heavy and Cas’s back is sticking to the seat, before he reluctantly turns his face away.

“It’s been much longer than twenty-five minutes — which I maintain I didn’t really owe you, in the first place.”

“Hey, you could have left at any time.”

“Dean, I think you would have been even more upset than I would have been if I’d actually left at the twenty-five-minute mark.”

Dean thinks for a second, then shudders.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. Thank you for, uh, not doing that. Here, I’ll help you get dressed.”

“_Actually_ help me get dressed, or ‘help me get dressed’ like you did earlier?”

He bites his lip, clearly struggling not to laugh.

“Point. Hey, it looks like your backpack spilled – how ‘bout I take care of that, instead?”

Of course it spilled. It wasn’t zipped all the way, and it had been shoved into the footwell as one of the first casualties of Dean’s lewd crusade.

Cas sighs, the kiss he compulsively presses to Dean’s cheek belying his frustration.

“Fine.”

\----------

Cas goes to the party, as promised.

Someone hands him a drink as soon as he walks in, and he sips it, to be polite; but then it’s awkward, navigating the crowd with a drink in hand, and he downs the rest quickly, searching out a wastebasket to throw it in.

Somewhere along the way, he ends up with another and, a little frustrated, he finishes that, too.

It takes him a while to find Dean, and even though his chest still gets that warm, full feeling when he does, there’s that funny twist that sometimes happens, too.

Dean is surrounded by friends, some Cas recognizes, some he doesn’t. He’s grinning, laughing, the brightest thing in the crowded chaos of the room, and Cas hovers by the door, just watching for a moment.

There’s a beautiful brunette snug against his side, smiling up at him. There’s probably someone out there who would argue that _she _is the brightest thing in the room, he thinks, and the thought doesn’t feel as friendly as it should.

Cas watches Dean bend to listen to her speak, laughing again at whatever she says, and he suddenly wonders if maybe Dean _is_ that someone.

His drinks sit, bitter and nauseous, in his stomach.

“Hold this,” somebody says, thrusting a cup into his hand and staggering back off. He watches the small, happy-looking redhead on Dean’s other side whip out her phone and show him something. Dean slings an arm around her, leaning in to look, and whatever’s there has him dissolving again as all three of them laugh some more.

They all look very happy. A couple people nearby lean closer, eager to be in on the joke, and Cas forgets that he’s just supposed to hold the drink, bringing the cup to his lips and finishing it without thought to its owner.

There’s something sharp and lonely in him, vicious as it wriggles around, trying to make itself comfortable. Cas thinks he’s come to terms with the other feeling, the one that might be love. That feeling is okay. They say that feeling makes the world go round, even, and he’s convinced himself to just let it be.

This feeling, though — this is the kind of feeling that makes the world stop. He feels caught in it, frozen and caved inward from the force that surrounds him.

But then the other feeling pushes back, reminds him how beautiful Dean is, so alive and vibrant and _happy. _Dean is a light all his own, a light Cas has had the privilege of being touched by, a light that deserves to spark and flourish to its full potential.

Part of that potential is the way it _can _touch others, make them happy, too. Who is Castiel to deny Dean that, to deny anyone else what he himself has — has _treasured_?

No one. He’s no one, and he can still be okay with that, too.

The world slides back into motion, and Dean catches sight of him. His grin turns to a smile, but there’s such warmth in it, something soft and secret in that crooked curve, that it doesn’t feel any less.

“Cas!” he calls, and then he’s there, hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“Hello, Dean.” To his relief, it’s as easy as ever to return the smile, and only becomes more so when Dean notices, eyes crinkling as he steps closer.

“Shit, your drink’s gone.”

“It’s fine,” Cas says, but Dean’s already disappeared. He’s back moments later, replacing the stranger’s cup and bumping Cas’s shoulder lightly.

“Part of me didn’t think you were gonna come,” he admits, and Cas gives him a reproachful look.

“You asked me to.”

Dean’s cheeks turn rosy, and Cas wants to press a kiss to each one.

“Well, thanks,” he chuckles, rubbing his neck. “So, uh. You wanna dance?”

Cas shakes his head.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh.” Dean coughs. “Okay. That’s okay. How’d that science test go?”

“Good, I think.” He smiles. “No thanks to you.”

“What? I was a perfect gentleman!”

Cas tries to glare, but he feels floaty, lightheaded, and finds he can’t even pretend to be angry.

“I lost an afternoon of study time.”

“Worth it, though, right?” Dean winks, and Cas nods solemnly.

“Always.”

Dean’s expression slackens for a moment. He stares down at Cas, and there’s a strange, giddy feeling dancing beneath Cas’s skin.

_Love, love, love._

He chases it away.

“What about your soap opera? Did Dr. Piccolo come to her senses?” he asks, because somewhere in that lost afternoon, Dean had expressed concern over the current plotline of his show, hands working agitatedly through Cas’s hair as he ranted.

He does that a lot, but Cas doesn’t mind. Cas likes how many things — even insignificant things — Dean finds energy to care about.

Dean groans.

“No! There was a bus crash, and one of the victims was Dr. Piccolo’s ex, and Dr. Sexy just fuckin’ _assumed _ that because she was worried about him, she must still be in love with him or something. He ignored her for the whole episode, and she thinks he’s changed his mind, and it ended on _another cliffhanger_!”

Dean hangs his head, and Cas resists the impulse to pet it in comfort.

“You know,” he suggests, recklessly, with a mischief he usually tries to curb, mischief Dean has a preternatural ability to draw out. “Maybe they’re not meant to be?”

Dean’s head snaps up, face outraged until he sees the smile Cas must not have been able to suppress.

“You _dick_,” he mutters, but he’s smiling, too. “Seriously, don’t joke about that. You haven’t even seen the show, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Cas agrees. “But I doubt I have the power to jinx it.”

“You don’t _know _that, so shut up.” He pauses. “You should see it, though. You should come over and watch it.”

“There’s a lot of it,” Cas points out, as he always does, when Dean suggests this. “I’d never find the time.”

Dean sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. College is _somehow _more important than Dr. Sexy.”

Cas rolls his eyes, doubtless grinning as he does it, and catches sight of Dean’s friends across the room, watching.

They have strange looks on their faces as they stare, looks Cas has trouble deciphering. He’s relieved to conclude they’re not unfriendly — several of them are smiling, odd little grins as they whisper to each other — and he decides they’re probably just eager to have Dean return to them.

No matter how much he’d like to, he won’t try and keep Dean to himself.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your friends,” he says abruptly, draining the rest of the drink Dean brought him.

Dean’s smile slips.

“What? Dude, I just spent an hour with them, it’s fine. You — don’t you want to come say hi to them?”

Cas shakes his head.

“I’m just going to . . . wander,” he says, and offers a smile he doesn’t quite feel. “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay. Have fun, I guess . . . you know, don’t wander too far, we might run out of ‘later,'” Dean jokes, but his grin looks more like a grimace.

“It’s not that big of a house,” Cas reassures him, and with a wave, forces himself to leave Dean’s side.

He finds he’s a little unsteady, now that he’s moving, and his stomach turns as he stumbles toward the stairs, seeking out a bathroom. He’s had three — four? — drinks, and now that Dean isn’t distracting him, he’s very much feeling them.

The line is short, and Cas feels a little better once he’s out again, although the hallway seems to spin around him. He thinks he sways as he makes his way down it, until he abruptly comes to a stop.

“Hey, watch where you’re — holy _shit, _Clarence?” Wide brown eyes peer into his, and he blinks down at Meg, startled to find her in front of him.

“Oh. Hi, Meg.”

“Since when do you get out?” she demands, wrapping a hand around his arm and pulling him to the side.

He squints.

“I think I left my house at eight.”

Meg laughs.

“Damn it, Clarence,” she mutters, then grins, wide and sly. “You look good.”

“Thank you.”

“You know when you wear that many layers, it just makes a girl wanna take ‘em off of you, right?”

“Not just girls,” Cas corrects her, because he remembers Dean saying something similar at some point.

Her brows climb.

“Oh, nice. I had no idea.” She tugs him a little closer, and he follows, a little worried he might fall over.

“You should wear more layers,” he suggests. He’s not sure how else she could be expected to know, not being a boy herself.

She narrows her eyes.

“You got a problem with how I dress, angel?”

_Angel. _Like Dean calls him, sometimes.

Cas suddenly feels sad — but then he notices how offended Meg looks, and he scrambles to backtrack, because he wasn’t trying to insult her. She’s being very nice to him, and he just wanted to help.

“No. No, your clothes are nice, Meg.”

She scrutinizes him another moment, and then relaxes, smirking.

“Sweet-talker,” she murmurs, and leans up to press her mouth to his.

Cas is surprised. Dean often cuts him off in this way, at seemingly random points in conversation, so he supposes he shouldn’t be, but kissing Meg is not something that occurred to him. Of course, kissing Dean never occurred to him until it happened, so this must just be how these things work.

It doesn’t feel quite right, though. The fact that he usually kisses _Dean_ feels urgently relevant, somehow, though he can’t really place why. Dean and Cas kiss, but Dean also kisses other people, he knows, brunettes and redheads who make him smile and laugh.

Dean should always be smiling and laughing, Cas decides. He was stupid to ever be upset about it, when it can only be a good thing.

“Clarence,” Meg says. Her lips tickle as they move against his. “This is the part where you kiss me back.”

Oh. Right. He knows that. Dean showed him.

Obligingly, Cas tilts his head, tries to remember the other things Dean has shown him in his frequent, thorough teachings. It takes effort, which strikes Cas as odd; for a long time now, it’s just come naturally. But now, here, he has to think about it, about what to do as he kisses Meg.

It takes him a minute to realize he’s moved away, cheek resting against hers, soft and warm and unfamiliar in a way that puts the sad, tight feeling back in his chest.

She sighs.

“Too drunk?”

He’s not sure how he answers, but the next thing he knows, Meg has a hold of his hand and is guiding him to a bedroom. Cas is worried for a moment, because he knows what happens in spare rooms at parties, and he tries to find the right words to explain what he doesn’t want.

But then he’s prone, and Meg is brushing the hair back from his sweat-damp forehead, hand surprisingly gentle as she shakes her head.

“I’m gonna get you some water, Clarence,” she says, and she’s gone.

Cas lies there, disorientation gradually receding, and waits; his mouth is dry, and water sounds unbearably appealing, right now.

Meg reappears, as promised, helping him lean against the pillows and steadying the bottom of the glass as he drinks.

“What were you thinking?” she murmurs, more kind than critical. He blinks at her, too busy gulping at the water to respond.

Once the glass is empty, she sets it down, criss-crossing her legs and looking him over speculatively.

“Sorry,” he blurts out, not sure what he’s apologizing for. Everything, perhaps.

He feels so confused tonight — except not just tonight; all the time, lately. It’s because he doesn’t understand things, he supposes, and there’s been a lot more _things _than usual.

Meg shrugs, cracks a smile.

“Don’t be. Was worth a shot.” The smile turns to a smirk. “You weren’t bad, by the way.”

He squints, and she laughs.

“At kissing. Not bad at all.”

“Oh.” He pauses. He doesn’t think he wants to kiss Meg again, but he appreciates the compliment. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” she continues, gaze turned calculating. “Makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Who’s been teaching you.”

And maybe it’s because he’s drunk, but Cas thinks she sounds strangely sympathetic.

\----------

He makes it home sometime just before midnight.

He doesn’t see Dean again, because he falls asleep in the bedroom at some point. Meg is waiting when he wakes up, still criss-cross on the bed, eyes closed in some kind of meditation. They crack open when he stirs, and she gestures to the glass on the bedside table, which is full again.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Eleven-thirty. You’ve been out for a couple hours. How’re you feeling, angel?”

“Weird. My head feels clearer,” he rasps, wincing and reaching for the water. “But it hurts more.”

“Hangover. Or pre-hangover. You’ll probably feel worse in the morning. Think you can get home okay?”

The room is thankfully still, and once he rubs the sleep from his eyes, his vision is clear. He gets to his feet before answering, just to be sure, but finds himself steady.

“Yes. I think so. Thank you, Meg.”

“No problem, Clarence.” She pauses. “Actually, wait. I had to babysit your ass for two hours, so yeah, kind of a problem. You owe me.”

He nods. That’s fair.

“Alright.”

Meg shakes her head, crawling off the bed and pushing him toward the door.

“Go home, Clarence. Get some sleep. You can buy me lunch on Monday.”

“Okay. Good night, Meg.”

She rolls her eyes and heads down the hall without another word.

\----------

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, and he spends most of Sunday in bed with his textbooks, halfheartedly catching up on the studying he doesn’t do whenever Dean comes to see him after school. Meg wasn’t wrong about the hangover; his calculator is missing, but he doesn’t even feel well enough to get out of bed to look for it.

By evening, however, his hangover is mostly faded, and the lasagna his parents left for him to reheat settles in his stomach without rebellion, leaving him full and sleepy. He goes to bed early, unconcerned with the lack of texts from Dean. They saw each other last night, after all; they don’t _always _ text every day, though most nights, Dean sends him a random, simple _Good night. _Cas doesn’t know why that is, but he likes it anyway.

Still, he’s not that worried when it doesn’t come.

\----------

Meg finds him when he enters the lunch room and throws an arm around him with an amused smirk.

“Good, you’re still alive. You remember Saturday night, or am I gonna have to do this the hard way?”

“I owe you lunch,” he confirms.

“Good answer.” She gives him a little shove toward the line. A few people seem to be looking at them, but Meg is eye-catching all on her own, and it’s been a number of years since they hung out much. “I want double fries.”

He frowns, and she holds up a hand.

“Listen, angel, I spent two hours coddling your pathetic, drunk self instead of, you know, _enjoying the party_. I deserve double fries.”

“Perhaps, but I’m trying to think of your health.”

“Whatever. Maybe you should’ve thought about _your _health more, or we wouldn’t be here.”

Cas just sighs. She thwacks his shoulder.

“Fine, compromise. I’ll take fries and onion rings. Vegetables, right, Clarence?” she teases, and he doesn’t bother arguing, since he knows it’s a joke.

Trays in hand, Meg follows him to a table, and he gives her a quizzical look when she plants herself right next to him, sprawling on the bench and popping a fry in her mouth.

“You don’t have to sit with me just because I bought you lunch. I owed you, remember?”

She waves a fry.

“Yeah, sorry, Clarence, I’m still collecting.”

He tilts his head, confused, and she lifts her brows.

“So? Who’s been teachin’ you how to kiss? If I’d known you were in the market for a tutor, I’d have tried to get there first.”

“Oh. Uh. No one.”

“My ass,” she snorts. “C’mon, I can keep a secret!”

“You told everyone I still wore a bumble bee onesie when we were ten.”

“I thought it was cute!” she insists. “How was I supposed to know they’d make fun of you?”

Cas just gives her a look.

“Oh, whatever. But I _did _ think it was cute, for the record,” she huffs. “Anyways, I was ten. I can be _way_ more discreet, now.”

Cas shakes his head.

“I don’t have permission to tell.”

“Um, you know that just makes me want to know _more, _right?”

“Sorry.” He’s not.

He fields Meg’s questions, increasingly clever in their setup and phrasing, for the rest of lunch. He’s gathering his trash, ready to escape, when he finally sees Dean.

Dean’s already looking at him and —

And he looks _furious._

Something squirms in the pit of Cas’s stomach, because he’s never seen Dean look like that, but even at this distance, he doesn’t think he’s mistaken. Dean is staring right at him, jaw tight and eyes dark with anger.

He’s standing before he knows it, anxious to cross the room, to apologize for — for whatever mysterious, unknown thing he’s done to cause that, but Meg tugs at his sleeve.

He startles, looking back at her.

“Jeez, where the hell are you going in such a hurry?”

“I.” He swallows, glancing back, but Dean has disappeared. “I need to — I have to go.”

“Yeah, I got that,” she grumbles, and he tugs his arm free. “_Where_?”

Cas ignores her, and practically runs out of the lunchroom.

\----------

Dean’s nowhere to be found.

Cas scurries down the halls as fast as he dares, trying to figure out where Dean has wandered off to, but the bell rings before he’s had any luck. He sends a quick text before class starts, a tentative ‘how are you?’ that ultimately goes unanswered. Dean’s not in English either, even though he was here today, and by the time the school day is over, Cas feels sick. Sicker, even, than he had at the party, when Meg had to look after him.

This time, he thinks he might really vomit.

He’s been wracking his brain, trying to figure out what might have changed between their friendly conversation at the party and today at lunch, but he can’t. The only thing he can think of is that he suggested Dr. Piccolo and Dr. Sexy weren’t meant to be together, but they’re _fictional characters, _and besides, Cas thought Dean knew that was a joke.

Maybe not, though?

That’s fine, he decides. It’s hypocritical for Cas to like how much Dean cares about things, then turn around and be upset when his insensitivity to that care lands him in hot water, right? Cas will just apologize, maybe offer to watch some of the series so he can educate himself, and promise not to do it again. He can do that.

But in the end, he’s pretty sure that isn’t it.

Cas effectively sprints out of his last class and down the hall, no longer worried about rules and eager to get to the parking lot and confront Dean. He knows he’s probably being stupid about this, that whatever Dean’s angry about, Cas may not be able to do anything to fix it. After all, what does Dean have to lose, being angry at Cas? More importantly, what does he have to _gain _by forgiving him?

Nothing he can’t find somewhere else.

No, Cas is the only one who loses out here, and that is precisely why he must do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

The Impala is still in the lot when Cas gets there, and he hurries toward it like that might suddenly change, even though there’s no one at the wheel.

He sags against the side, and waits for Dean to come out.

It’s not a long wait; he can’t have been there more than a couple of minutes before he catches sight of Dean, pushing past the other students and stalking across the parking lot as Sam hurries along behind him, visibly disgruntled.

He stops short when he sees Cas, and Cas straightens up, sick all over again at the look he receives.

“What do you want, Cas?”

Oh. He wasn’t wrong. Dean is _definitely_ mad at him.

“I just — I wanted to apologize.”

“Save it,” Dean spits, striding forward and reaching for the door. Cas quickly moves in front of it.

“Please, Dean, just — listen, I don’t know what I did wrong, but -”

That’s the wrong thing to say, apparently. Dean spins, crowding him against the Impala and staring him down. This close, Cas can see what looks a little bit like anguish next to all the rage.

Nothing about this makes sense.

“Don’t fucking _even. _ I’m not an idiot. Jesus, Cas, I was _there. _What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”

“_Where, _Dean? I don’t understand, what did I—”

“_Meg_!” he shouts, so close to Cas’s face, and Cas flinches. “You and Meg. Thought _maybe, _somehow, I was misunderstanding, but shit — there you were at lunch, and even somebody as dumb as me can figure it out.”

Cas blinks rapidly, trying to sort through everything and find his voice, find the words to use it on. He’s not good with confrontation, and this is all so unexpected to begin with —

“You’re angry about Meg,” he clarifies.

“Of-fucking-_course _ I’m angry about Meg!” Dean snaps, disbelieving. “You know, because that's what happens when you cheat on people, Cas. They get _pissed._”

Dean is shaking with rage, but now his eyes look a little wet, and Cas —

Wait. Cheat?

“I didn’t cheat.”

“_Sure _ you didn’t. You were just helping her get something out of her teeth, and then you went to the bedroom to play Monopoly. For fuck’s sake, I don’t — I never thought _you, _of all people —”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, brain working furiously to catch up. “Yes, I — I kissed Meg, although nothing else happened, but—” How does he explain to Dean, so that maybe Dean will be able to see the issue and then explain it to _him_? “It can’t be cheating if you’re not in a relationship.”

Dean stumbles back, fury turned to shock, and Cas doesn’t understand. This should not be a new concept to Dean. Cas knows Dean spends time with other people, the same way he does with Cas, and he accepts that. How can it be cheating when Cas does it, but not when Dean does?

It’s frustrating, and Cas is still shaken from getting yelled at, but he thinks he understands the issue now. He’s surprised, that Dean would care whether or not Cas saw other people, but humans are complicated. This isn’t the first time he’s been puzzled by a double standard.

Still, he can work with this. Cas doesn’t want to kiss Meg, or _do_ anything else with any _one _else. Dean’s being irrational, and he should apologize for shouting at Cas and making him worry the entire day, but if he really wants Cas to be faithful even though the reverse is not true, Cas can do that.

“It’s alright,” he hurries on, because Dean is still staring at him, frighteningly blank in the face of reason. “I — I understand that feelings are complicated, and you can’t control them.” After all, Cas is in love with Dean, when he shouldn’t be, when Dean might be upset if he knew.

Although, perhaps Cas doesn’t understand Dean as well as he thought; perhaps Dean would be pleased to know Cas is in love with him, for the same reasons he apparently doesn’t want Cas to exercise the same freedom he himself enjoys. Maybe Cas should tell him, right now. Maybe it would help.

It’s not reasonable, but Cas finds the words stick in his throat, as if subconsciously, he doesn’t want to say them when they won’t be returned.

“I won’t kiss other people,” he says instead, and Dean seems to snap out of it.

“Fuck. Fucking _hell, _ we — this _whole time, _you — you just —” Dean is struggling for words, expression twisted up in some shape Cas can’t even begin to identify. The silence hangs between them, awful and heavy “No. No, it’s fine, Cas. My bad. Kiss whoever the hell you want. Just as long as it’s not me.”

And then Dean pushes him — not hard, just enough to move him out of the way, but it’s still a shock — and climbs into the car.

Sam hurries around the hood as he starts it, and he’s barely shut the door behind him before Dean is peeling out of the space.

Cas stares after them, a discomfiting mix of devastated and uncomprehending, and when he starts walking home ten minutes later, things still don’t make any sense.

They don’t hurt less, either.

\----------

Cas must write a hundred different texts to Dean over the next week, and he probably composes a thousand more in his head.

_Dean, I’m sorry I kissed Meg. I was drunk and I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to, but I won’t do it again. Please don’t be angry with me._

_ Dean, can we please talk? _ _I know you’re angry, but I’ll make it up to you, I swear._

_ You know, Dean, I didn’t even want to kiss her. If I’d known you’d be upset I’d never have done it. You should have told me sooner. How could I have known?_

_ Dean, you’re being hypocritical. You kiss whoever you want. Why does it matter what I do?_

_ Are you tired of me, now? Was I a novelty? Do you not want me if I’m not - _ _what did you call it_ _? _ _An innocent little nerd?_ _ Did I somehow ruin the game by kissing Meg?_

_Please, Dean, please forgive me. I swear y_ _ou’re the only person I want to kiss. And I wish I was the only person you wanted to kiss. I’m in love with you._

He sends none of them.

The maddening thing is, he still doesn’t know what Dean wants from him. What he _ever _ wanted from him. He thought Dean was just looking for an easy distraction, and Cas certainly was _that_. But apparently there are other rules, rules Cas didn’t understand, rules that once broken have made him ineligible for the role.

He doesn’t try to talk to Dean in school, either; at the end of the day, Cas just — doesn’t know what to say.

No, all he knows is how he feels, and this isn’t about how Cas feels. Dean has never cared about that. This is about how _Dean _feels, and while Cas knows Dean is angry and didn’t want him seeing other people, the exact reasons for this continue to evade him.

So he says nothing. He watches Dean, sulks while Dean ignores him, and thinks of all the things he wants to say, that he knows won’t make any difference.

It’s a long, lonely week.

\----------

Meg starts sitting with him at lunch, sensing drama and wanting in on it. She pesters him with questions, somehow coaxes his phone number out of him, and he receives segments of her interrogation almost hourly.

By Friday, she’s moved on to outright trying to _guess _who Cas has been kissing, and on Monday, she shows up with an honest-to-god handwritten list.

“Is that . . . your math homework?”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Clarence, I don’t have Calculus till the end of the day.”

Privately, Cas thinks her teacher will be very disturbed to receive an untitled list of names alongside her homework, but Meg will do as she pleases.

“_Anyways,_” she drawls. “This is it. Today, I figure out just which lucky bastard’s bed your boots have been under.”

“My boots haven’t—” he starts, and she presses a palm over his mouth, rolling her eyes.

“Please. It’s a song. You know — _whose bed have your boots been under, whose heart did you steal, I wonder?_”

Oh.

“Nobody’s,” he says forlornly, and she hastily removes her hand. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”

Meg softens at that.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Cas had, in a moment of weakness, given her a cursory explanation of the situation. He still doesn’t like her use of the word ‘fuckbuddies,’ but he can’t fault its accuracy.

“Well, let’s go down the list, shall we?” She clears her throat, lifting a brow. “Daphne Allen?”

Cas shakes his head.

“I barely know her,” he says, though he’d known Dean all of three hours before he’d let him take _incredible _liberties with his person.

“Honestly, I figured it was a long shot,” she agrees, scrunching her face. “But it’s always the quiet ones, am I right?”

Given the situation he’s found himself in, she may be on to something.

“Welp, let’s see. Is it . . . Hannah Grayson?”

He makes a face.

“She’s like my little sister,” he says, and Meg shrugs.

“Hester Williams?”

“She’s hated me ever since I quit bible study.”

“Hate is a powerful aphrodisiac sometimes,” Meg counters. He shoots her an alarmed look.

“Okay. What about Alfie Jones?” she asks, to his surprise. She’s spent the week asking about girls. “Over the weekend, I remembered what you said at that party. ‘Not just girls,’ or something.”

“No,” he admits. “Not just girls.” Not any girls, really, or any other boys. Just the one _person_.

“So, Alfie? Yes? No?”

“No.”

“Damn. I had a good feeling about that. He gave you that hug after you guys got an A on your science project.”

Cas remembers that. It was sweet, but it made him very uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being touched, then.

Now he misses it.

“Okay, how about Inias Greely?”

“Actually, I think he’s dating Hester.”

“Wow, nauseating. Okay, what about — Dean Winchester?”

Cas blanches, because how on _earth _could she have guessed that, especially given her other choices — but then someone slides a graphing calculator in front of him, and he recognizes that hand without having to look up.

He looks up anyway.

“’S’yours, right?” Dean asks gruffly, ignoring Meg.

Cas stares.

“Uh. Yes, probably.” He’s had to borrow one the last week, unable to locate his. This explains why.

Dean furrows his brow, staring down at him before finally glancing at Meg. He looks . . . tired.

No less beautiful for it, though.

“How’d Clarence’s calculator end up with you, Deano?”

“Clarence?” Dean repeats, mouth twisting around the word. Meg gives Cas’s leg a squeeze.

“Just my special nickname for him,” she says sweetly.

Dean presses his lips together, eyes narrowing.

“Right. Well, _Clarence _left it in the backseat of my car. Just so you know.”

Meg’s jaw drops.

“Thank you for returning it, Dean,” Cas interjects, eager to acknowledge what he _hopes _is a gesture of goodwill, a sign that Dean might wish to reconcile, in some way.

Dean snorts.

“S’not like I was gonna do anything else with it.”

“You could have thrown it out.”

He sighs.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think of that.”

Oh. Perhaps Cas was wrong.

“Uh. Do you — do you want to sit?”

“_Yeah, _Dean, do you want to sit? We’re having the bestest time, here. In fact, I was just trying to figure out who Clarence here’s been knockin’ boots with.”

“Yeah? Why, did he let you think he wasn’t seein’ anybody else?”

Meg looks unimpressed.

“We’re not like that. He turned me down at a party _because_ he’s in love with someone else.”

Cas pales.

“Meg,” he hisses. She crosses her arms.

“Except that someone’s being a real _ass _about it.”

Dean blinks, swallows.

“In love, huh?” he repeats, voice strangely dull. “Yeah, okay. That explains some things.”

“Dean—”

“Anyway, have fun with that, you two,” he mutters, and strides off, hands jammed in his pockets.

The hand on Cas’s leg pinches him, hard.

“You’re fucking _Dean Winchester_? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Meg, you and I had barely spoken in years before last week,” he points out, and she shakes her head.

“No. Nuh-uh. Here I was, thinking, ‘of course he’s not telling me, he’s bumping uglies with some gross nerd he probably met at church or in science club—’”

“There’s no science club—”

“But _shit, _ Clarence! _Dean. Fucking. Winchester. _ And you didn’t tell _anyone. _ How did that even _happen?_”

Cas sighs.

“I don’t know. I — Mr. Singer asked me to tutor him in math.”

Meg whistles, and Cas swears she looks impressed.

“You bad boys.” She shakes her head. “Thing is, Clarence, I’m not sure you know what’s going on, here.”

“I know I don’t. I’ve told you that.”

“Sure, but I think you know even less than you think you do.”

“Meg,” he pleads, tired.

“You told me your fuckbuddy wanted to sleep around, but they got mad when you did it.”

“Yes.”

“You lied.”

“What? I did not.”

Meg throws him a pitying look.

“Oh, yes you did, Clarence. Because Dean Winchester has _not _been sleeping around.”

Cas takes a moment to process that, and finds he can’t.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Listen, I find all those people an _ungodly _bore, but Dean travels in a pretty big crew, and you just can’t avoid them all the time, you know?”

“Meg, what do you _mean_?”

“Couple weeks back, I heard the big teddy bear and the gay redhead teasing him about breaking some poor girl’s heart, and he told them he ‘couldn’t help it’, because he was taken.”

Cas’s heart sinks.

“Dean has a girlfriend?”

“Oh, my god.” Meg buries her face in her hands. “Okay, let’s try this another way. Clarence, why don’t you tell me what Dean said, exactly, when he got mad at you for kissing me?”

“I — he said a lot of things, Meg.”

“Humor me, walk me through it.”

Cas blinks, thinking back.

“I asked him why he was angry,” he says slowly. “And — he accused me of cheating. And then I pointed out we weren’t in a relationship.”

Meg snaps her fingers.

“Fuckin’ bingo, angel.”

He waits, and she stares at him, eyes widening a little.

“_Seriously? _ You still don’t — oh my _God, _that poor bastard.”

“_What, _Meg?” he demands, impatient.

She stands, gesturing for him to follow.

“I’m gonna ask you to do something, and I need you to do it, _exactly _as I tell you, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, reluctant, if only so Meg will let him in on the secret.

“Go find Dean. Right now. I don’t care if you miss class, you’re both idiots and I can’t watch this trainwreck any longer. So yeah, go find your boytoy and ask him one _simple_ little question for me.”

“What do I ask him?”

“Ask him if he thought you were in a relationship.”

Cas draws back, horrified.

“But we _weren’t_ _—_ _”_

“Castiel!” she barks. “Just _ask him._”

“That will just make it _worse_ _—_”

“Uh, no, it won’t, because literally _nothing _could make this worse. Go. Thank me later. Buy me lunch for a week. We can talk about it afterwards.”

She smacks him on the ass, much harder than he thinks is necessary, and walks away before he can argue.

\----------

It’s a long shot, but Cas goes looking for Dean anyway.

He finds him by the bleachers, on the field. It’s too cold outside to be there, and even in his jacket, Cas can see Dean shivering.

If it were two weeks ago, Cas wouldn’t hesitate to sit next to him, to press close to warm him.

But two weeks ago it was warm and sunny, and there were other reasons to press close together.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, voice coming out quiet, and for a moment, he thinks Dean hasn’t heard him.

Then Dean sighs.

“Hey, Cas. What do you want?”

“May I sit?” Cas asks, stopping a foot away from Dean.

There’s a long pause.

“Go ahead.”

Cas sits, flinching when their knees brush as he awkwardly tries to get comfortable.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” Dean mumbles, and hunches forward a little.

Cas takes a deep breath, steeling himself to ask his foolish, pointless question.

_Just ask him._

“Dean — did you think we were in a relationship?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from beside him, and Cas forces himself to meet Dean’s eyes.

Dean looks — _hurt._

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, shifting his gaze away. “You didn’t, right? So it doesn’t matter.”

Cas swallows, forcing himself to think the words over carefully, lest he misinterpret anything, the way he’s already misinterpreted so much.

But — but _that __—_ that makes it sound like —

“_Did _you?” he breathes, wanting to be sure.

“Yes, okay? Yes, I thought — I thought you were my boyfriend or whatever. You said all that shit about me being your first, and stuff, and you didn’t seem like the casual type and — and damn it, Cas, even if it weren’t for all of that, you — I _thought _that you — that you felt the same way.”

Cas’s heart is a pack of wild horses, thundering toward some unknowable destination, overwhelming in power and speed.

“How _do_ you feel?”

“Fuck you, I’m not saying it,” Dean snaps. “I get that this is all a big, fun game to you, but—”

“I love you, Dean.” This time, the words don’t get stuck at all.

Dean’s jaw clamps shut, a host of different expressions flashing across his face.

“What?”

“I love you. Very much. For a while now.”

“I don’t — what?”

“It’s alright if you don’t — if that’s not what you meant. But you seemed to be saying you cared, to some degree, so — so I thought you should know that.”

“But you kissed Meg!”

“Well, technically Meg kissed me, and I was persuaded to kiss back. But I was very confused about it all, and I stopped as soon as I realized I didn’t want to.”

“I — but — why didn’t you stop her _right away_? For that matter, why’d you turn around and tell _me _we weren’t in a relationship?”

“Because I didn’t think we were. You never said.”

“Maybe not that, _exactly_, but — but we — Cas, what did you _think _that was?”

Cas shrugs.

“I thought I was just a way to pass the time.”

Dean’s face falls.

“Cas . . .”

“You — came onto me, after having known me for a few _hour__s__,_” Cas interrupts, aware he sounds a little petulant, but he has a lot of feelings right now, and he’s having trouble sorting them all out _and _focusing on the conversation. “And I knew that wasn’t unusual for you, that you never meant anything by it. Why would I think I was different, if you didn’t tell me?”

“I — come on, I must have—”

“You didn’t. We didn’t go on dates. You barely spoke to me when there were other people around, so I could only assume we were a secret. In fact, you still _flirted _with other people, and I had no reason to think that was all you did. You just — you’d come find me, and we’d fool around, and then I wouldn’t really see you until the next time.”

“That’s not true! Cas, I texted you like, every day. And I sure as hell wasn’t seein’ anybody else!”

“That’s — good to know.” Something eases in his chest, knowing that. “But still. Your texts were never anything more than friendly.”

“I sure as shit don’t text the rest of my friends just to say ‘good night’ all the time!”

“Well, I didn’t know that.”

“And also, I wasn’t trying to keep you a secret, okay? You said you didn’t like attention, and every time I tried to talk to you, you’d make up some excuse to leave, so I thought _you _felt weird about people knowing.”

They’re fair points, all of them. And Cas might have felt weird, if people had known.

But it would have been worth it.

“Alright. But still. That doesn’t change the fact that you never said anything to indicate it was a relationship, or even that you liked me.”

“If that's what you think, then you’re an idiot.”

“Well.” Cas sniffs, and is mortified to find his eyes stinging, a lump having appeared in his throat at some point. “Thank you. I suppose that answers the question of your feelings.”

Dean swears.

“Damn it, Cas! Stop being a child. That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Dean rakes a hand through his hair, agitated. “And you know what? _You_ didn’t say _either._”

Cas purses his lips.

“I — I was new to all of this. You knew that. I thought if there was something to be said, you would be the one to say it.”

“That’s a shit excuse, buddy. And you wanna know why? Because you’re not the only one. This? This is all new to me, too. Cas, I — I’ve never felt this way in my life. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.” He shrugs, helpless. “Except, I _thought_ I did. I thought we were on the same page.”

Cas reaches out, tentative and slow, giving Dean ample opportunity to shy away.

He doesn’t, and Cas’s hand lands lightly on his shoulder.

“You’ve never felt this way,” he echoes, and Dean looks at him, disbelieving and — and fond, Cas thinks.

“Nope. Not even close.”

“What way is that, Dean?” he presses, edging closer.

Dean glances away, hesitant.

“Dean. Please.”

Dean takes a breath.

“What you said, earlier. You meant that? For real? You didn’t just say it because I’m pissed at you?”

“I would never,” Cas insists, and scoots a little closer still. His coat is brushing Dean’s, now. “I didn’t — I only realized it, last time we were out here, but — I think I’ve _felt _it for much longer.”

Dean’s face is turning red, whether from the cold or embarrassment, Cas can’t be sure.

“Okay. Okay, Cas.” He swallows. “Well, me too. And fine, I should have said it sooner, but you know what, _so should you_. And you shouldn’t have been kissin’ _Meg_, either, just ‘cause you thought I was messin’ around with — which is just stupid, by the way, because I haven’t even looked twice at anybody since Mr. Singer or God or _whoever _sent your stupid ass to me, and if you didn’t want me cattin’ around, you should have let me know _that_, too, because it sounds like you were basically letting me _use _you, which is _not okay, _man, you deserve better tha—mmmphh.”

What? It didn’t seem like Dean was going to shut up any time soon, otherwise.

\----------

Dean pulls away a few minutes later, breathless and flushed and hair wild, one hand gripping the back of Cas’s neck and the other wandering to the kinds of places that will _definitely _make them miss their next class.

“Wait,” he gasps, turning away when Cas tries to chase after him, impatient with the interruption. “Stop it, Cas, just — just _hang on, _okay?”

“Fine,” Cas mutters, nosing behind Dean’s ear and grimacing when a gust of wind carries away the warm air between them. “What is it?”

“Just to be _clear,_ ” he says. “We’re — shit, boyfriends or whatever, right? ‘Cause listen, I’ve learned my lesson, and I _refuse_ to put out until you _promise_ me we are in an exclusive, offical relationshi—hrrrmph.”

Cas probably wouldn’t have learned anything in his next class, anyway.

\- END -

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Cas/Meg:
> 
> Cas is drunk at a party; he speaks with Meg in the hallway, and Meg kisses him. Cas briefly kisses back before he stops, deciding he doesn’t want to. Meg does not press the issue. Friendship ensues.


End file.
